Priorities
by Jlbrew85
Summary: Stefan gets caught drinking at the Grill by Sheriff Forbes. Damon isn't too happy about it.


**Vampire Diaries**

" **Priorities"**

 **Summary** **:** Stefan gets caught drinking at the Grill by Sheriff Forbes. Damon isn't too happy about it.

 **Author's Note** **:** I got the idea for this story while watching several of the episodes that showed Stefan openly drinking at the Grill and I just thought that was so odd. Only a handful of people know he is in fact a vampire and most people know he goes to high school in town. I can only assume that he compelled the bartender to serve him. And I don't think if he ever got caught at it, Damon would be too pleased about it…given his overprotective streak towards his little brother.

 **Time-Frame** : This story is set in early season two—before Klaus shows up and before Sheriff Forbes knows the BIG SECRET.

 **Warning(s)** **:** There will be a spanking scene of a teenager in this story.

 **Disclaimer** **:** _I don't own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun._

 _ **~Vamprie~Diaries~Vampire~Diaries~Vampire~Diaries~**_

Stefan Salvatore sat at the bar in the Mystic Grill and nursed his glass of whiskey.

It wasn't as good as what his brother, Damon, had at their house of course but…he really didn't feel like going home just yet.

He'd just had a fight with his girlfriend, Elena, and he didn't want his older brother butting into his life any more than he already did.

Hence, why he chose to come to the town's local hangout for a much needed nerve soother.

Little did he know, though, his nerves were about to get even more worked up.

"Stefan?" a familiar voice spoke, and he glanced behind him to find Liz Forbes standing there.

"Sheriff Forbes," he said, blinking. "Something I can do for you?"

The town's sheriff, and mother of one of Stefan's close friends, sat down on the bar stool next to him.

"I just came in for some lunch when I saw you sitting here," she told him, and she glanced at the drink in his hands.

Stefan swallowed. Uh oh…something told him he knew where this was going.

Despite the fact he was technically more than a century old, he was still physically just seventeen.

When he'd come in for a drink, the bartender had naturally asked to be shown his id.

Even though Stefan knew his current driver's license said he was 22, he hadn't felt like going through with the charade.

So, he'd simply compelled the bartender to serve him.

Which now, clearly, was a mistake.

"Are you holding that for someone?" Sheriff Forbes asked him, curiously. "Damon, maybe?"

"Damon?" Stefan swallowed, feeling his nerves spike.

Compelling her wouldn't do any good as she was a member of the town Council.

Which meant she was more than aware of the existence of vampires and knew the tricks to keep them from messing with her mind.

He could lie, of course, but somehow he doubted she'd fall for it—especially when his older brother failed to appear.

He sighed. "Damon's at home, Sheriff," he told her, honestly.

"I see," Liz said, raising an eyebrow. She motioned for the bartender.

"Something wrong, Sheriff?" the bartender, Marty, asked.

"Just curious, Marty," Liz said, nodding to Stefan. "Did you card him?"

Marty blinked, frowning. "I…think I did," he said, hesitantly. "I remember asking to see his ID, anyway."

"He did," Stefan spoke up, quickly, and then regretted it instantly.

This was bad…if she got suspicious about the guy's memory lapse…

"Uh huh," Liz said, narrowing her eyes at him. "Mind if I take a look at it?"

Despite her phrasing it as a question, Stefan knew it wasn't a request but an order.

Shit…

Having no choice, he pulled out his wallet and showed her his driver's license.

Damn it, why hadn't he thought to have the date changed on it?

Of course, that would have just led to more questions…and probably gotten the bartender in trouble, too.

Stefan had enough guilt on his conscience without sending an innocent guy to jail for something he didn't do.

"22," Liz said, glancing up at him. "Seriously?"

Stefan gave her a guilty smile and shrugged.

"Is something wrong, Sheriff?" Marty asked, frowning.

"I know for a fact this young man is only seventeen, Marty," Liz informed him.

The bartender glanced at Stefan with a fierce frown on his face.

"I'm sorry, Sheriff," he apologized immediately. "I should have spotted that…"

"It's not your fault, Marty," Liz assured him, glancing meaningfully at Stefan. "Most of the kids in town know better than to try something like this."

Stefan winced at that. Of course, they wouldn't.

Most of the kids in the town had grown up there and therefore everybody knew just how old they were.

Stefan hadn't been in town long enough for _everyone_ to know how old he was supposed to be.

That was the only saving grace in his screw-up.

It was perfectly believable that the bartender would accept his ID at face value since he wouldn't have known Stefan was technically too young to buy alcohol.

Of course, that didn't help _him_ any.

Liz put the clearly fake ID into her uniform pocket and stood up.

"I think you owe Marty an apology, Stefan," she told him, seriously.

Stefan glanced at the bartender. "Sorry," he mumbled, sincerely.

"S'okay, kid," Marty told him, still glaring. "Just don't try it again."

"I won't," Stefan told him, honestly.

"C'mon, Stefan," Liz told him, motioning for him to follow her.

Stefan swallowed. "A-Are you arresting me?" he asked, hesitantly, as he followed her out of the bar.

"Not this time," Liz assured him, "but I am going to drive you home."

Stefan winced at that.

Home meant Damon, who was never going to let him here the end of this…

"I think I'd prefer going to jail," he muttered, as he got into the squad car.

Liz smirked at that, clearly having heard him.

"I'm sure Damon won't be too hard on you," she told him, gently.

Stefan snorted at that.

 _Then you really don't know Damon_ , he thought to himself as they drove to the house the Salvatore brothers shared.

When they got there, Liz got out and opened the passenger door for him.

They walked up to the doors together, but when Stefan reached to turn the knob Liz stopped him.

Instead, she reached up and rang the doorbell.

Stefan frowned at that. Now, why would she do that?

A few minutes later, the door opened and Damon stood there.

His hair was dripping wet, he was shirtless, and a towel was around his neck.

Clearly, he'd just come from the shower—hastily throwing on his pants to come answer the door.

He blinked at the sight of his little brother standing slightly behind the town's sheriff.

"Uh…" he said, hesitantly. "Liz, is everything all right?"

"That's a matter of opinion, Damon," Liz said, glancing at Stefan. "Do you want to tell him or shall I?"

"Uh…" Stefan said, looking extremely guilty and embarrassed at the same time.

"Then, I will," Liz said, nodding. "I was going to the Grill for lunch when I happened to see your brother sitting at the bar with a drink in his hand."

Damon frowned at that.

Stefan grimaced. Yep, he definitely wouldn't be hearing the end of this anytime soon…

"I thought perhaps you were with him and had needed to use the bathroom or something," Liz went on. "Unfortunately, he informed me you weren't there."

"Uh huh," Damon said, his jaw tightening. Stefan winced.

"When I asked the bartender, he remembered asking for his id," Liz said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out his [fake] driver's license.

She handed it to Damon.

"Notice anything?" she asked him. "Specifically how old it says your little brother is?"

Damon glanced at the license, and frowned even more.

Stefan was mentally counting the number of ways Damon was probably planning to stake him at that moment.

"I'm going to assume you weren't aware he had that," Liz told the elder Salvatore.

"I didn't," Damon answered her, honestly. "I'm terribly sorry about this, Liz. Trust me, it won't happen again."

At this, he gave his brother a very pointed look. Stefan couldn't help but swallow a bit at that.

It reminded him of the looks he used to get from Damon when he'd been younger and human.

Back then, Damon had been the one to care for him—especially after their mother died.

He might have been their father's favored son, but that didn't mean that Giuseppe actually spent much time with him.

So, generally, it was up to big brother Damon to see that his baby brother dressed himself properly, ate, and generally behaved himself.

And when he didn't behave himself, it generally fell to Damon to…correct…him.

And that correction usually came in the form of a hand—or switch—across his backside.

 _Don't be ridiculous_ , Stefan thought to himself. _You're a hundred and sixty-two years old, for pity sake!_

"I'm sure it won't," Liz said, smiling. "Do you mind if I come in and speak to you a moment?"

"Of course," Damon said, stepping back from the door to let them inside. "Stefan, go sit down in the living room. I'll deal with you in a moment."

Stefan resisted—but only barely—a smartass comment at that.

Instead, he quickly went and sat down on one of the couches in the living room.

However, being a vampire did have its advantages…one of which was a heightened sense of hearing.

As such, he could eavesdrop on the conversation out in the hallway rather easily.

"I really am sorry about this, Liz," Damon was telling the sheriff, quietly. "Stefan's normally a pretty good kid."

"But he is still just a kid, Damon," Liz replied back. "I know it must be hard for you, being so young yourself..."

Stefan snorted at that. If only the woman knew.

"…but like I said Stefan is still just a kid, even if he normally is very mature for his age," Liz went on. "I realize that that might make it easier, but it also means you sometimes might be a bit…lax…in certain areas. Like setting rules and boundaries…"

"Stefan knows what he can and can't get away with, Liz," Damon assured her, gently. "He also knows I'll come down hard on his ass if he does something stupid."

"Well, that's good," Liz said, sounding relieved. "Did you know he was at the Grill?"

"No, he was supposed to be with Elena," Damon told her. "He didn't happen to say why he was there, did he?"

"No, I didn't think to ask," Liz told him. "I figured I'd leave that up to you. You've done an awful lot for this town, Damon, more than we can ever thank you for…"

Stefan made a gagging sound in the back of his throat.

If this got anymore 'Damon, you're my hero!', he might just throw up!

"…but you've got to keep your priorities straight," Liz went on. "Your family should always be your first priority, Damon. I've had to learn that the hard way."

"I know, Liz," Damon assured the sheriff. "Believe me, I am most definitely going to make Stefan a top priority after this."

Stefan winced at that, listening as their footsteps headed back toward the door.

The front door opened and Liz stepped out of it.

"That's good," Liz said in reply to Damon's statement, and Stefan could hear the smile in her voice. "See you at the Council meeting tomorrow night."

Then, the front door closed.

Stefan did his best not to look too worried when he heard Damon's footsteps enter the living room.

He watched as Damon crossed over to the sideboard and began picking up the decanters of liquor that was there.

Stefan frowned. "What are you doing?" he asked him, curiously.

"Oh, just checking to make certain they were still full," Damon said, a hard note to his voice. "Funny, they all still seem to be..."

Stefan sighed. "Damon—"

Damon swirled around, his eyes vamping. "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!" he yelled, his fangs descending.

Stefan swallowed. "I, uh, I guess I wasn't," he said, after a moment. "I was just pissed off…"

"At what?" Damon asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Elena," Stefan muttered, sourly. "We had a fight."

Damon narrowed his eyes at him. "Another fake fight?" he asked, through gritted teeth.

"No," Stefan told him, huffing. "A real one."

Damon seemed to relax at that, but then bristled again.

"Then why the hell didn't you just come home?" he asked him, pointedly. "You could have drunk as much as you wanted for free!"

Stefan sighed.

"Because," he told him, sounding horrendously petulant, "I didn't want you butting in!"

Damon growled at that.

"So, instead, you go to the ONLY bar in town where EVERYONE in it goes to eat," he said, scathingly. "Real smart, Stef."

Stefan stood up, letting some of his own anger seep through.

"I didn't know the sheriff was going to walk in when she did," he told him, glaring.

Damon just gave him a withering look that said quite clearly what he thought of that argument.

"And what the hell is up with this?" his older brother demanded, holding up the fake driver's license.

Stefan glanced down, embarrassed. "I, uh, I forgot to have it changed," he muttered, sourly.

"You FORGOT!" Damon exclaimed. "Stefan, that's vampire hiding-in-plain-sight 101!"

"I know that, damn it!" Stefan growled at him, throwing up his hands. "I get it, Damon. I screwed up. Okay?"

"Oh, it's far from okay, baby bro," Damon told him, glaring. "Did you even use it or did you just compel Marty?"

"Figures you'd be on a first name basis with the bartender," Stefan muttered, sourly, out of the side of his mouth.

Damon eyes vamped again. "Answer the damn question!?" he growled, sternly.

"I compelled him, all right," Stefan said, and then grinned like he'd hit on something brilliant. "So I guess it's a good thing I didn't get it changed, right?"

"Lucky, you mean," Damon said, his voice taking on that hard edge again. "I can't believe how incredibly STUPID you were!"

Stefan looked genuinely hurt by that. "Like you've never done something stupid before," he said, quietly.

Damon's nostrils flared. "We're not talking about me right now, are we?" he growled at him.

Stefan crossed his arms over his chest. "So what?" he asked him, snorting. "You planning to ground me or something?"

"For getting your ass dragged home by the sheriff?" Damon smirked. "You're _definitely_ grounded, little brother."

"Whatever," Stefan said, rolling his eyes. He turned to head towards the stairs.

Damon's hand was suddenly around his wrist.

Stefan's own eyes vamped. "Let go," he growled, letting his fangs descend.

"I don't think so," Damon told him, firmly. "If memory serves, you wanted your big brother back."

Stefan blinked at that. "What do you mean?" he asked, puzzled by the statement.

"I mean you wanted me to turn my emotions back on," Damon reminded him. "You wanted me to care about you like I did in the old days."

"Yeah," Stefan said, hesitantly. He couldn't be sure, but he felt like he might be walking into some kind of trap…

"Then, it won't surprise you at all what I do next," Damon said, smirking.

Before Stefan could reply to that, he suddenly found himself staring at the Persian rug underneath the sofa.

"What the hell?!" he exclaimed, trying to stand up and finding he couldn't.

Damon had 'blurred' them over to the sofa and he now found himself over his older brother's knee.

Stefan's eyes widened in realization at what was about to happen.

"NO!" he exclaimed, definitely trying to get up now. "NO WAY IN HELL!"

Damon snorted.

"Quit struggling, dumbass, I'm stronger than you," he reminded him. "This is happening so you might as well settle down unless you want it worse."

Stefan glanced up at him over his shoulder. "B-But you already said I was _grounded_!" he said, slightly panicking now.

"You are," Damon told him, seriously, "but _that_ was for getting your butt dragged home by the sheriff. _This_ is for putting yourself at risk—oh and not to mention ME, too!"

"Damon, please," Stefan said, swallowing. "I get I screwed up, I really do…"

"Good, then we won't have to discuss why you're getting your tail tanned," Damon said, grinning.

"C'mon, Damon, I'm too old for this!" Stefan cried, struggling again. "You haven't done this to me since…since…"

"Since you were fifteen," Damon told him, smirking. "You were caught drinking then too, if I remember right."

Stefan cringed at that.

When he'd learned his older brother/best friend was being sent off to war, he hadn't exactly handled it well.

He'd swiped some moonshine from their family's overseer and snuck off to get smashed.

It was Damon who'd come looking for him and when he'd found him more than a little tipsy…

Let's just say, Damon had decided to sober him up…with a birch switch across his bare ass!

"I'm not fifteen anymore!" Stefan reminded him, still struggling.

"No, you're seventeen," Damon snorted, shaking his head. "Stop that or you're losing your pants!"

Stefan stilled immediately. "I'm not really seventeen," he said, his voice pleading. "Please, Dami…"

"You're _always_ going to be seventeen, Stefan Angelo," Damon reminded him, sternly. "And that didn't work when you were younger and it's not going to work now!"

With that, he proceeded to raise his hand back and brought it down with a resounding smack across his kid brother's ass.

"Damon—OW!" Stefan cried out as that first smack landed right in the middle of his butt.

Damon's hand had hurt as a human, but as a vampire—it was ten's times worse!

"Of all the stupid stunts you could have pulled," Damon growled, as he continued to bring his hand down across his brother's behind. "And to top it off, _I_ GET A LECTURE ON MINDING MY PRIORITIES!"

He punctuated each word with a resounding slap that jarred Stefan's teeth practically out of his head.

"I'm sorry!" Stefan cried, unable to stop the tears that fell down his face.

His ass hurt like hell, so he didn't actually care at that moment.

"Oh, you better believe you're going to be," Damon said, continuing pounding on his brother's behind.

Another ten smacks landed on his already sore rear end.

By then all Stefan could manage was an, "I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I'm sorry…" mantra over and over.

It took him a moment to realize the dreadful smacks had stopped reigning down and the hand that had administered them was rubbing his back gently.

"Up you go, baby bro," Damon said and suddenly Stefan was off his lap and sitting on the sofa beside him.

Stefan hissed, wanting to jump up but Damon's hands on his shoulders prevented him.

"With Katherine running around doing God knows what," he told his little brother, "we can't afford to be the tiniest bit stupid, Stefan."

Stefan wiped at the tears that were still falling. "I know," he said, wincing. "I'm sorry, Damon."

"Yeah, well," Damon said, releasing his shoulders. "Just don't let it happen again."

With that, he stood up and walked over to the decanters again. This time he poured himself a tumbler full of bourbon.

"Want one?" he asked Stefan, smirking.

Stefan stood, wincing at the burning in his behind. Even with supernatural healing, he wouldn't be sitting comfortably for a while.

"No, thanks," he growled, through clenched teeth. "Can I go to my room now?"

"Sure, go ahead," Damon said, tilting the tumbler back and downing the bourbon.

Stefan nodded, stiffly, resisting the urge to reach back and rub his sore behind.

"Stef," Damon called after him before he was out the living room door.

"Yeah?" Stefan asked, wearily.

"You _are_ grounded," Damon told him, seriously.

Stefan sighed, not about to argue. "How long?" he asked, curiously.

"I'll let you know," Damon told him, grinning evilly.

Stefan scowled. "Thanks a lot," he said, turning to head up to his room to sulk—uh, _think_.

He'd made it to the middle of the stairs when Damon asked from the bottom, "You want to talk about it?"

Stefan blinked, glancing at him. "Talk about what?" he asked him, puzzled.

"The fight with Elena," Damon told him, staring up at him with understanding eyes.

"It was just a stupid fight," Stefan told him, truthfully. Certainly nothing that should have led him to all this trouble…

Damon nodded. "Chicks, huh?" he said, shaking his head.

Stefan actually grinned at that. "Yeah," he said, agreeing. "And Damon? Thanks."

"Just minding my priorities, baby bro," Damon said, smirking. "Because, you know, that's _so_ important and all."

"You really are an ass," Stefan told him, laughing.

Damon turned around and slapped his own butt.

"And damn proud of it, little brother," he told him, heading back into the living room.

Stefan just chuckled and shook his head.

Reaching back to rub his still stinging butt, he made his way up to his bedroom.

Sitting down at his desk (after putting a couple pillows in the chair, of course) he picked up his pen and began to write in his journal: _Today has been…a good day._

The End.

AN—I tried to keep them in character as much as possible. I hope I succeeded. I also hope you enjoyed it. Thanks.


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